


Prompt Fics, December 2017

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, One Night Stands, Parent-Child Relationship, Prompt Fic, Smut, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-15 07:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13026111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: I'm going to put all of the filled prompts from this month in one place, and this is that place. Ratings will vary from General to Explicit and everywhere in between.





	1. Red Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Possible smutty AU with Eagle Scout Rogers meeting bailbonds!Emma in Seattle pre season 1 because at this point what does a time line matter? (Or any other way you can make this happen)
> 
> MY NOTES: I loved this idea and I had to write it immediately. All it requires is pretending that the Hyperion Heights curse involved a backwards time jump to 2010. (I know it isn’t 2010, shhhhhh. Go with it.) Rated E.

It was at three in the morning, somewhere in the middle of North Dakota, on the darkest stretch of highway that Emma Swan had ever experienced, that she really started to question her life choices. Because seriously, was this kind of blackness, where everything beyond her own headlights was an inky, terrifying miasma, even real? It shouldn’t be real. She gripped the steering wheel of her Bug, shifting from one butt cheek to the other to try to restore some feeling to her backside. Exhaustion felt like a fuzzy, tangible thing, lurking in the corners of her brain, but for now, the surge of adrenaline brought on by the darkness seemed to be keeping her going.

When she got into the bail bonds business, she’d expected to find enough work near Boston to make travel like this unnecessary -- three thousand miles across the top of the United States, all the way to Seattle. It was crazy, making this kind of drive on her own in her crappy old car, and she knew it was crazy. But the payday she would get if she caught this particular bail jumper, she just couldn’t resist. She could easily live for three months on what she would get off of this one score. It seemed worth the risk of a broken down car in North Dakota.

Or, it had seemed worth the risk two days ago. Now, at three in the morning, surrounded by blackness, it didn’t seem worth the risk at all. It didn’t seem worth the risk of being a pretty, blonde, 27-year-old woman alone on a dark highway in the middle of nowhere. Leaning forward in her seat, blinking her eyes several times, Emma said a tiny prayer to the automotive gods. 

It was another day and a half before she crossed the state line into Washington, and when her bright yellow car finally brought her within the city limits of Seattle, she felt a knot between her shoulder blades finally loosen.

After such a long drive, her skip was anticlimactically easy to find. A week of monitoring his posts on a message board whose entire purpose was to trade child porn (and in her darker moments she wasn’t sure if any amount of money was worth seeing even the descriptions of what they were trading; fortunately, descriptions were all she saw, but that was bad enough) gave her an IP address. The IP address led her to a library in a Seattle neighborhood called Hyperion Heights. As she marched him out of the library in handcuffs, Emma caught a brief glimpse of a dark-haired girl no older than ten, standing at the circulation desk, oblivious to the monster who had been in her midst. 

Fortunately, the fact that her skip was wanted for federal crimes meant she wasn’t responsible for hauling him back to the east coast. She could just turn him over to local police, who would turn him over to the FBI. After a uniformed officer at the Hyperion Heights station took him into custody, Emma breathed a heavy sigh of relief and excused herself to the washroom. She scrubbed her hands for a long, long time.

Barrelling out of the police station ladies’ room, her mind already on her plan to treat herself to a celebratory grilled cheese at the first cheap diner she could find, she collided with a solid chest, and as she recovered from the impact she registered a lot of black: black henley and black suede jacket and black boots. She looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

“It’s you,” the man said, shock and gravel in his voice.

“It’s who now?” she asked, staring at the jawline of this guy who was frankly, the most attractive man she’d ever seen. 

“You’re her,” he said, and his hand drifted to his abdomen. She could make out the slightest definition of muscle under his shirt. “The one who saved me.”

Emma snorted, wincing that such an unattractive sound had come out of her. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember saving you, buddy. You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

He wrapped his fingers around her bicep, not exerting any force, but she shook him off. “You look just like…” Blinking quickly, he took a step back. “My apologies, love. My mind must be playing tricks on me.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” She should have hated him calling her ‘love,’ but his accent (or the fact that he was insanely hot) made it work. “I’ve literally been in town for less than a day.”

“What brings you to the police? Anything I can help you with?” He was all restrained politeness now. “I’m Detective Rogers,” he added, pointing down to the badge at his waist. Emma’s eyes drifted down, lingering for the barest moment on the way his tight jeans accentuated the bulge under his belt. She felt her mouth literally water. _Jesus, Emma, get a hold of yourself._

“I’m in bail bonds,” she said. “Just dropping off a skip and then I’m headed back out of town,” she said, gesturing toward the door. 

He looked disappointed at that piece of information. “Ah.”

“But I was gonna go treat myself to a hot meal first,” she said.

“Perhaps I can escort you? If you wouldn’t mind the company?” He seemed to want to prolong their interaction, and Emma knew he should be setting off all kinds of alarm bells, this guy who seemed to be trying to look inside her with his piercing blue gaze, but her alarm bells were strangely silent.

“Aren’t you working?” she asked with a smirk.

He scratched behind his ear. “I’ve been off duty for a while; just going over some old case notes.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. If you know the best place to get good onion rings in this town, I’m all yours.”

Detective Rogers blushed at that, spots of color high on his cheeks. “I know a place.”

“Let’s go, then.”

As they left the police station, Emma caught sight of an older detective with shaggy brownish-gray hair staring at her, an odd expression on his face. She stared back. 

“What’s your name, love?” Rogers asked as he held the door open for her.

Walking out into the warm evening air, something told her not to answer his question truthfully. Without really understanding why, she replied, “Jane.”

Rogers seemed unaware of her lie. “All right, Jane,” he said with his elbow held out to her. “Shall we?”

They walked down the sidewalk, past a bar named Roni’s. (“Not there,” he said. She didn’t ask why.) Rounding the corner, he led her down into a less gentrified, rougher part of the neighborhood. 

When a blonde girl seemed to land in front of Emma out of nowhere, Emma recoiled, stopping in her tracks.

“You’re too early,” the girl said to her, her eyes narrowed as she took Emma in from head to toe. “Or too late, perhaps.”

“Tilly, what are you on about?” Rogers sighed with exaggerated patience.

Tilly seemed to shake herself like she was coming out of a trance. “Nothing, Detective. What are _you_ on about?”

“When was the last time you ate, Tilly?” The girl shrugged in response. As Emma watched, he pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and peeled two fives off, putting them in Tilly’s hand. “Get a hot meal, please. Something healthy.”

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” the girl snarked, the money disappearing into her sleeve. “Watch yourself, Detective. You’re treading very close to the sun.” Before Emma could parse that statement, Tilly vanished down an alley.

“Dad?” Emma asked. He didn’t look old enough to have a nearly grown daughter, but perhaps she was a bad judge of age. The girl did have an accent to match his, which was weird if they weren’t related. Had she stumbled into a neighborhood full of British immigrants, of all things?

He sighed, resuming their walk. “She’s an informant. Squats in an abandoned warehouse down by the harbor, so I worry.”

The fact that this detective was putting some of his hard-earned money in the pocket of a wayward young woman, not unlike herself at that age, made Emma’s heart soften. “It’s nice of you to look out for her.”

“I do what I can. Here we are,” he said, holding open the door to a grungy diner. Emma preceded him through the door. _Please Seat Yourself_ , the sign said, so she did, collapsing into a booth. The cracked vinyl scraped against the palm of her hand as she adjusted her position in the seat. Rogers slid in across from her with much more grace.

While he studied the menu, Emma studied him. The way his unfairly long eyelashes cast shadows across his cheekbones. The auburn highlights in his short scruffy beard. The bracelet almost hidden by the sleeve of his jacket, and the dark hairs on the back of his hand.

The fact that his other hand was covered with a glove.

“Why do you wear one glove?” she asked.

Setting his menu down, he pulled the glove aside at the wrist enough for her to see that it hid not skin, but metal. He had a prosthetic hand.

“Oh. Sorry,” she said, blushing at her own bluntness. Now she noticed that it didn’t move as naturally as the other hand, the fingers unable to close completely. 

“No worries,” he said, seemingly unbothered. She wanted to ask him how he lost his hand, but she held the question inside. A waitress came over and took their orders. Emma ordered a grilled cheese, onion rings, and a Coke, Rogers a corned beef sandwich with a side salad and a water. 

“Salads at these kinds of places are usually iceberg lettuce and three shavings from a carrot,” Emma pointed out.

“Aye.”

“A wedge of pale, cardboard tomato if you’re lucky,” she added.

“Do you always criticize people’s food choices?” he asked with an edge of exasperation. “It’s still better than your grease bomb of a dinner.”

“I’ve been living for three days on coffee and shitty granola bars,” she said. “I deserve a grease bomb.”

“How did you get into bail bonds?”

Emma winced. It should be an innocuous question, to ask someone how they got started in their career, but for her, it was anything but. “I fell into it,” she answered vaguely. “Turns out I have a knack for finding people. How did you end up becoming a cop?”

“I just… wanted to help people,” he said with a tight smile. “To do good.”

Her superpower told her that he was telling the truth. “You’re kind of unreal, you know that?”

Rogers sipped his water. “Aye.”

~*~

“So you seriously are going to get right back in your car and drive all the way back to Boston?” he asked later as he was holding the door to the restaurant for her again, after he’d paid for her meal. It was more chivalry than she’d experienced in a long time, and she couldn’t decide if she liked it or not. 

“Well, I can’t really afford a hotel,” she grumbled. “Ironically, I will be able to once I get paid for this skip grab, but I can’t now.”

Rogers jammed his hand in his pocket. “Just don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel, love. You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah, I’m a little tired, she admitted. “And I’m sure I’ve smelled better.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said.

Emma kicked the toe of his boot. “Why, were you offering to take me back to your place?”

His head tilted to the side. “I genuinely would, but I’m guessing your sense of self-preservation wouldn’t allow it.”

Emma shrugged. “You seem like a decent guy. And if you aren’t, I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt.”

“I’m not going to fuck you,” she said, enjoying the way he flushed at that, and ignoring the voice in her head whispering _are you sure about that?_ “But I wouldn’t say no to a hot shower and a sofa to crash on.”

~*~

The hot water ran out before she was ready to get out of the shower, but at least Rogers’ bathroom was clean -- much cleaner than she’d seen from most of the guys she’d slept with in the last couple of years. She pulled a change of clothes from her bag and dressed before venturing out into his living room, where he was making up the sofa with a spare set of sheets.

“Thanks again,” she said. “That made me feel almost human.”

“My pleasure.” He’d hung his jacket up when they’d walked into the apartment, and Emma blatantly stared at his biceps as he tucked a blanket into the cushions. There was a swirl of hair at the crown of his head that looked soft, and her fingers tingled with the urge to touch it. “Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked, oblivious to her ogling.

“A beer?”

He grimaced. “I’m afraid I don’t drink.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted, uncomfortable that she’d inadvertently stepped on a landmine. Their pasts were full of them, it seemed. “That’s okay.”

“A cup of tea, perhaps?”

Emma moved into his personal space, trying to defuse the awkwardness the only way she knew how. “I’m not really a tea drinker,” she murmured, looking at his lips. She wondered if he was one of those hot guys who was terrible in bed, skating by on his looks alone. She was willing to bet not. She was willing to take the risk and find out.

His tiny intake of breath and the way his eyes gravitated to her mouth in return were the only signs that her attraction might be mutual. Emma put her hand on his hip, looping a finger in his belt loop and pulling his hips flush with her own. 

“I didn’t invite you here to take advantage,” he said. “It’s poor form.”

“You’re not the one taking advantage, I am.” Emma let her lips brush his, just the barest hint of a kiss. “The question is, are you willing to be taken advantage of?”

He answered her by pressing his mouth against hers, and she opened in response, letting her tongue touch the seam of his lips until he parted them for her. Their mouths seemed to fit together like two puzzle pieces slotting together, just the right amount of wet and slick. Emma felt a little woozy from how good the kiss was. Or maybe she was just tired, she thought.

Rogers pulled away first, panting into her mouth as they sort of swayed in each others’ space. Emma cupped his cheek with her other hand, the scruff of his beard a pleasant scrape against her palm. “Is this okay?” she asked.

He looked into her eyes and nodded.

They ended up on his bed, shedding clothes haphazardly as they continued to kiss. As she dragged his shirt up, her hand skated over a puckered scar on his stomach. 

“I was shot,” he told her, reaching back and pulling his shirt over his head. “A woman found me bleeding in an alley, and she put pressure on the wound until an ambulance arrived.” Emma leaned over and pressed her lips to the scar, wondering even as she did it if it was too personal, too intimate for a one-night stand. “She looked like you,” he gasped as her mouth trailed over his abdomen, his erection visible against the zipper of his jeans. 

Once they were naked, he maneuvered himself onto her right side so that he could touch her with his hand. His fingers moved deftly over her flesh, and Emma gasped and rolled her hips in response. _Nope, definitely not bad in bed,_ she thought, because he seemed to know exactly how to touch her. Exactly when she needed light strokes and when she needed pressure, and when she wanted his fingers pushing inside her as his thumb worked against her clit. Whimpering, Emma sank her fingernails into his bicep, the obscenely wet sound of his touches reaching her ears. 

“Condom?” she asked. If he didn’t have one, she was pretty sure she had a couple in her bag. 

Rogers fumbled in his bedside table drawer, and he tore open the packet and put the condom on efficiently. When he hesitated, Emma reached for him and pulled him on top of her, her nipples brushing pleasantly against his chest hair as they writhed against each other. Then he was pushing inside her, and she let herself get lost to the sensation of a good, hard fuck.

Her eyes closed, she focused on the push-pull pressure of his cock inside her, spreading her legs wide and angling her hips so that his thrusts would stimulate her clit. His harsh gasps complemented the sound their fucking, all of it working like gangbusters to get her closer and closer to coming. She felt amazing, could feel an incredible orgasm building, and she opened her eyes because it was a crime not to look her fill of this hot guy while he was inside her.

Rogers’ eyes bored into hers, pinning her to the mattress like she was a butterfly on a card. Emma didn’t know what to do with the raw emotion she saw on his face, so she closed her eyes again, running her fingers through his hair and giving him a sloppy kiss. His hips sped up, fucking into her harder and she used her other hand to brace herself against the headboard, giving as good as she got. 

They came together, moaning a little too loud for the probably thin walls of his shoddy apartment. As their breathing slowed, feeling the warm afterglow of a truly excellent orgasm, Emma couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around Rogers and giving him a brief hug before he pulled out and excused himself to the bathroom. 

Staring at the ceiling, Emma thought about the way he’d looked at her. It wasn’t the look of a man who’d stumbled fortuitously into a one-night stand. It was the look of a lover. When Rogers came back to bed, Emma closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She felt him get into bed next to her, moving carefully like he didn’t want to disturb her. They didn’t touch again.

~*~

It was late morning when she awoke, and the apartment was silent as a grave. Pulling her clothes on and shuffling out to the kitchen, she found a bear claw and a note. _Thank you for last night, Jane. If I don’t see you again, know that I’ll never forget you._ Emma took a bite of the bear claw, ignoring the gnawing guilt in her stomach. Rogers was a genuinely good guy. She hoped he had a good life. Packing up her stuff quickly, she let herself out of the apartment.

~*~

The detective who’d stared at her as she was leaving the police station the day before was leaning against her car.

“You,” she said. 

He levered himself off the car. “You.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to congratulate you personally for nabbing that pedophile yesterday, Miss Swan. Nice job. And I thought you might want to know, the feds picked him up this morning.”

“Good,” she answered. Something about this guy was setting off all the alarm bells that Detective Rogers had not. 

“Headed back to Boston?”

“Yeah.”

He pulled a can of Red Bull out of his denim jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Have a safe trip.”

Emma looked at the can. “What’s this for, Detective...?”

“Weaver.” He waved his hand dismissively. “One of the uniformed officers gave it to me, but I hate the stuff. Thought it might help keep you awake on your drive.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

As she drove out of town, Emma glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Weaver standing there watching her. She shuddered.

~*~

She broke down and drank the Red Bull in North Dakota.

~*~

Many months later, trapped in the Enchanted Forest, Emma Swan encountered the bluest eyes she’d ever seen on a pirate pretending to be a blacksmith. She didn’t recognize him. She betrayed him, fought him, kissed him, pushed him away, fell in love with him, married him, bore his child, grew old with him, but she never remembered the night in Seattle with the man who shared his face.


	2. An Act of Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Since you're taking prompts, maybe a future fic when little Swan-Jones somehow learns a thing or two about dad's past and Killian has to figure out a way to explain it in a way his kid will understand. (I know this is probably random, but it seems like something you would write really well based on other stories of yours I've read.)
> 
> MY NOTES: My first thought was, I’ve already written this! (A Sad, Sad Place Without You) But I very quickly realized that there are more angles to tell this kind of story from, and no shortage of things for Maureen to find out about. Plus, I was able to use a tiny orphaned snippet of a Charming/Maureen conversation that I didn’t know what to do with, which makes me happy. 
> 
> FYI, Maureen is my invented Swan-Jones daughter who predates the canon pregnancy, so some of the stories about her are consistent with S7 and some aren’t. Rated G.

David found Maureen on the swing he’d hung from a big, old tree on the property years ago. She’d kicked off her sneakers, and despite the chilly air was swinging back and forth barefoot, leaning back so that her hair dragged through the dirt, her fists clutching the weathered rope.

“I wondered where you’d gotten to,” he said, and at the sound of his voice, his ten-year-old granddaughter pulled herself upright, slowing with a drag of her heels against the ground. She was dirt from head to toe, as usual.

“I wanted to swing,” she said.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the tree, “I’m glad you’re getting some use out of it. Neal’s too old for it now.”

Maureen narrowed her eyes. “That’s stupid. There’s no reason to grow out of swinging.”

“You make a compelling point.” He crossed his arms. “In any case, your parents will be here to pick you up soon, so you should probably come back up to the house and get cleaned up.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed back with her legs and started swinging again. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It must be something, Mo.” He flinched. “Sorry, _Maureen_.” She’d announced at her tenth birthday party the previous month that she didn’t like her nickname anymore, and wouldn’t answer to it or to any of the other pet names Killian had for her. 

She scowled, stopping her momentum again with her bare feet. “My dad killed people, you know.”

David took a startled step back at that non sequitur. “What are you talking about?” he asked cautiously, not knowing exactly what she knew.

“I used to think being a pirate meant sailing around where you wanted, maybe stealing gold from people who didn’t deserve so much gold.” She screwed up her face, and David could tell she was near tears. “But he was a villain. He hurt people.”

Still uncertain if this was a conclusion she’d drawn about pirates in general or if she’d gleaned specific information about her father, David spoke carefully. “Your father only became a pirate because an evil king caused the death of his brother--”

“I know that story,” she interrupted. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do really bad stuff though.”

David walked over and knelt on the ground in front of Maureen, gripping the ropes of the swing in his hands. “I know, sweetheart, but your father has been a good man for a very long time. A hero. A man I’m proud is part of my family.”

“Heroes aren’t supposed to kill people.”

A sudden image of his own wife after she’d killed Cora, more distraught than he’d ever seen her, flashed in David’s mind. _Heroes aren’t supposed to kill people._

“Did something happen, Maureen? What’s got you thinking about this all of a sudden?”

She scuffed her feet in the dirt, kicking some of it onto David’s blue jeans. “I heard them talking.”

“Who?”

“Mom and Dad. I heard him say he killed his father.”

 _And mine,_ David thought traitorously. He’d forgiven Killian long ago for that, but it still struck him at odd times, that his closest buddy, his daughter’s true love, the father of this wonderful girl in front of him was responsible for such a life-altering crime from so long ago. 

“I heard him tell Mom that he’d dreamed again of the night he killed his father. They didn’t know I was listening. And I just started to think about pirates, and I realized he probably killed other people too. I don’t know why I never thought of that before.”

“Because he’s your dad,” David said. “Killian’s father was not a good man. He abandoned his own children when Killian was no older than you are now. I know it’s hard to understand--”

Maureen didn’t seem to even hear him and was working herself up into hysterics. “He lived for a really long time as a pirate, he told me. Two hundred years. How can he make up for being a villain by being a hero now? There isn’t enough time!”

David reached out and stroked her cheek, catching one of her tears on his thumb. “It doesn’t work that way. Your dad doesn’t have to balance out the years when he was a villain with the same number of years as a hero before his slate is clean. What matters is that he’s a good man now, and because of that, we forgive him for things that happened in his past. It’s an act of generosity to forgive someone who’s worked to be a better person. An act of grace.”

Brow furrowed, Maureen tried to puzzle that out. “When did _you_ forgive him?”

David thought about that, uncertain how to answer. It had been a gradual thing that happened in stages, with a few rough patches between where they’d started and where they were now, but that wasn’t what Maureen wanted to hear. “Have you ever heard the story of Queen Elsa?”

She nodded. 

“When Queen Elsa came to town, she was afraid that the people here had done something to hurt her sister Anna, and it made it difficult for her to control her powers.”

“Ice powers?” Maureen asked quickly, and he could see a spark of excitement in her eyes underneath the worry.

“Yes, ice powers. So for a little, while your mom was in danger, because she was trapped with Elsa, and it was very, very cold.” He took a deep breath. “I was with your dad, and he fought so hard to get her out of that ice. I think he would have chipped at the ice with his hook until he collapsed from exhaustion. That was when I realized how much he loved your mom, and I guess I forgave him then.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was true enough for the sake of what he was trying to communicate. It was certainly one of many times that he’d seen the man’s love for Emma shining out like a beacon in the dark of night. 

“And once someone’s forgiven, the bad stuff they did doesn’t matter?” she asked, wiping at the tears on her face and hopelessly smearing her cheeks with more dirt. 

“I wouldn’t say it doesn’t matter, but… you move on from it. Maybe you don’t forget. Just like your dad has never forgotten the things he’s done. But you turn the page, and you live on.” He thought about Rumple and Killian, Regina and Zelena. So many people in his life had been granted forgiveness for so much. Perhaps they didn’t deserve it, but in the end, what would it have benefited anyone to hold grudges? How would it have done anything but keep those people back from achieving the good they’d achieved?

Maureen hopped off of the swing, and he pulled her into a hug. “Just know that there are few people in this world that I trust more than your father to protect the people we love. And that’s been true for many years. Okay?”

She nodded against his chest, sniffling. “Okay.”

“All right, young miss, let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Maureen picked up her shoes and ran toward the farmhouse while David followed after her at a more sedate pace.

~*~

“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

Killian looked up from his book, seeing Emma in the doorway by their bed, slipping her phone back in her pocket. He sat in the wingback chair he’d positioned next to the large ocean-facing windows of their bedroom years ago. It had become his favorite place to sit of late to enjoy the salt-tinged breeze, even as the temperatures were dropping and it was becoming less pleasant to leave the windows open. 

“Hey, is Mo still in the shower?” she asked.

“Aye,” he said, tilting his head toward their bathroom. Their daughter had recently switched from baths to showers, but annoyingly she insisted on using their bathroom instead of the one next to her room. _That bathroom creeps me out_ , she said, although Killian could find absolutely nothing to justify such a statement.

“We’re going to need to talk to her. Dad said she overheard us talking about Brennan last night.” Emma refused to honor the man who’d fathered Killian with the title, choosing to refer to him by his name. She may have never known the man, but it didn’t stop her from despising him.

Killian’s heart plummeted. “Dammit.”

“That’s not all. I guess it got her thinking about pirates and villainy and murder and I don’t even know what all, but she was upset. Dad did his best to comfort her and it sounds like he did a bang-up job, but we’re going to need to talk to her.” She stepped up next to the chair and combed her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping pleasantly against his scalp. 

“I knew this day would come eventually,” he sighed. “I just wish I knew what to say. There’s nothing to justify some of the things I did.”

Emma continued to stroke his hair. “Do you want me to be here, or should I let you talk to her by yourself?”

He looked up at her gratefully for thinking to ask. “I think I’d rather talk to her by myself unless you think that would do more damage.”

“Of course it won’t.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

His daughter appeared from the steam-filled bathroom a few minutes later, wearing baggy, plaid pajama pants and a plain t-shirt, her hair a wet and uncombed riot. She had a drawer full of pink and purple nightgowns and girly pajamas -- gifts from her Grandma Snow that she had never worn.

“Would you like me to comb your hair, love?” he asked gently, seeking any sign of her emotional state on her face. He expected Maureen to say no (these days she wanted to do everything herself), but she nodded.

Killian reached over and grabbed Emma’s brush off the dresser, beckoning his daughter closer with his hook. Without a word, she positioned herself with her back to him, and he sat forward in the chair and began to gently work the tangles out from the bottom, his hook pressed above where he was brushing to keep from pulling at Maureen’s scalp.

“I fear I’ve made an error with you, darling, telling you so many exciting stories about being a pirate and leaving out the less savory aspects of my former life,” he said, clearing his throat around the lump that was already forming. The last thing in the world that he wanted was for any of his past mistakes to cause his daughter pain. He’d die a thousand deaths to spare her that if he could.

Maureen’s shoulders tensed but she said nothing.

“I can’t lie to you; I was a villain, and I made many mistakes in service of seeking vengeance against someone who had wronged me.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she supplied. She didn’t know Rumple; he and Belle and Gideon had left Storybrooke to travel the realms before Maureen had been born. And of course, Maureen had asked Emma years ago why her father had only one hand. Emma had told as sanitized a version of the story as she could, just as he had once done the same when Maureen learned that he’d died. Too many terrible tales haunted their pasts, he thought.

“I hated my father. He abandoned me and Liam when we were boys, leaving us indentured to a ship--”

“What’s ‘indentured’?” she asked.

He sighed. “It’s almost like being a slave, but the difference is there is a chance to buy your way to freedom, although it’s very difficult.”

Maureen whirled around. “You were a slave?”

“Not exactly, darling, but near enough.” He coaxed her to turn around again so he could continue working on her hair. “I never forgave my father for that, although perhaps I should have. So when the chance arose and killing him would get me closer to my goal, I accepted a devil’s bargain and I orphaned your other uncle Liam.” He left Regina’s involvement out. He didn’t know when or if she might return to Storybrooke, but he didn’t want to bias his daughter against someone who was an integral part of the family. “He was a bad man, but it was a mistake and I regret it.” Most of the tangles gone, he ran the brush down the length of Maureen’s hair. “I regret many things that I’ve done, and I work every day to be a man worthy of this family. Worthy of being your father.”

“You are,” she said in a small, trembling voice. Setting the brush aside, he coaxed her onto his lap so that he could hold her. She didn’t fit the way she used to, all long limbs and angles, and he shuddered to imagine the woman she would start to bloom into in only a few short years. His days of holding her like this were numbered.

“I apologize that my past deeds have made you upset. And I apologize that I wasn’t more honest with you.” Her wet hair was cold against his cheek, and he turned and pressed his lips to her head.

“It’s okay, Dad.”

“I love you, Mo.”

“Maureen,” she corrected, but there was no heat in it, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Maureen,” he responded, hugging her back, his eyes squeezing shut against tears that threatened to spill over. 

“I’m glad you’re a good man now.”

“Me too, love.”


	3. Eggnog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT 1: Captain Charming + spiked eggnog  
> PROMPT 2: Captain Charming trying to figure out what to get for their wives. Bonus points if Charming gets grumpy over Killian’s ease at finding presents.
> 
> MY NOTES: I combined two prompts together for this one: Merry Christmas, everybody! Captain Charming, Rated G

“Aha! I found it,” Killian said, Henry’s old laptop computer open in front of him on the kitchen table.

David turned from his eggnog experimentation (in preparation for the party he and Snow were hosting on Christmas Eve, to which it seemed the whole town had been invited) and squinted at Killian over a glass he was holding. “Found what?”

“Emma isn’t doing as much magic these days,” Killian said absently, still absorbed in his find on the computer. Emma had noticed during the first trimester of her pregnancy, when she was so tired that she’d nearly fallen asleep at the dinner table a few times, that she had to exert a significant amount of energy to do magic. And even though she was feeling less exhausted now, despite it being her almost her eighth month, she still was refraining from using magic for reasons she considered frivolous. “So I found this,” he continued.

“And I ask again, _found what_?” 

“A seat warmer for Emma’s car.” Killian turned the computer around and pointed at the screen. “She used to warm the car in winter with a wave of her hand, and while she insists she doesn’t need her seat warmed, I know she’d appreciate it.”

“Oh.” David frowned at him, looking irritated. “That’s a clever idea.”

Killian eyed him for that odd reaction. “I thought so.” He began the process of purchasing the thing, which was long and involved and gave him a headache half the time, but he’d mastered it a couple of years before in the service of obtaining items that weren’t available in Storybrooke without a trip out of town.

“I mean, it’s not a very romantic gift,” David said, back to mixing ingredients for the eggnog that he insisted was a necessity during the holidays. Killian found the stuff to be repulsive, although he usually ended up holding a glass of it to be polite.

“Oh, I know, I already got her a romantic gift,” Killian said as he painstakingly typed their address into the little boxes using his one hand. “A charm bracelet to which I will add a commemoration of our daughter’s birth date when it occurs. For now, it has a few charms to symbolize other significant milestones in our relationship.”

Killian expected David’s face to clear of worry once he’d assured him he wasn’t buying Emma only a car seat warmer for Christmas, but instead, David’s expression only got stormier. “Huh,” he said.

“What is it, mate?”

“Nothing, nothing,” David said, picking up a bottle of rum and adding a generous pour to the eggy cream mixture. 

Rather than pressing it further, Killian returned to his online purchase, because he knew you had to finish these things quickly or risk the web page “timing out,” Henry used to call it. And since Killian was at a disadvantage with his slow typing, he couldn’t afford to get into an argument with his father-in-law right at this moment.

When he’d finally finished with the infernal process, Killian closed the laptop with a sigh and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair. “You seem to think I’ve chosen inadequate gifts for your daughter.” Killian knew he hadn’t; he knew Emma and he knew what she would appreciate. So he was curious what the reason for David’s ambivalent reaction was.

“No, I don’t. Here, try this one,” David said, putting a glass of eggnog in front of Killian.

“I’m not a qualified taste-tester for this stuff, mate.”

“I know, you think it’s a waste of good rum, but I usually have Emma as my tester. Since her not being able to drink alcohol is partially your fault, you get to test the nog.” He gestured toward the back of the house, where presumably Emma and Snow were snuggled up in front of a warm fire, chatting. “You put that baby in her, so drink up.”

Killian watched the way David was overenunciating his words. “Seems you’ve been -- what is it the kids say? Getting high on your own supply?”

David blinked slowly at him. “What?”

Grinning widely, Killian picked up the eggnog and sniffed it. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not.”

“You just obliquely referenced the conception of your future grandchild, which is wildly out of character for you, Dave. You’re drunk.”

“It’s possible I’ve sampled a bit,” David said. “I don’t drink much these days, you know. My alcohol tolerance isn’t what it used to be.”

Killian smirked. He didn’t drink much these days either, mainly to spare Emma needless resentment that she couldn’t join him, but he still didn’t think he’d ever been (or ever could be) as much of a lightweight as David Nolan apparently was.

Feeling magnanimous, Killian took a sip of the eggnog and tried to keep his disgust off of his face. “It’s fine.”

David pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and collapsed into it. “You hate it.”

“So? I always hate it. It’s a terrible waste of good rum.”

“I still haven’t found a gift for Snow this year,” David said, hanging his head.

“Oh.” Killian shrugged. “You’ve still plenty of time. That amazon thing will ship packages here in--”

“I know, but I just don’t have any good ideas this year.” He grimaced. “I’ve never been the best at finding gifts to make my wife happy.”

“Mate, I’m sure that’s not--”

“No, it’s true. I’m too cheap, or I get something that’s too practical.” David picked up the glass of eggnog he’d given Killian and drank from it. “I still haven’t lived down the year I bought her a vacuum cleaner.”

Killian winced. “Aye, that’s perhaps not a gift that tells a woman that she’s the love of your life.”

“And to make it worse, Snow is great at buying gifts. She’s annoyingly thoughtful.”

Killian thought about the rare, first edition book of seafaring tales that his mother-in-law had given him last Christmas. She was an excellent gift-giver, that was certain.

“She’s my true love; this should be easier,” David said, draining the glass of eggnog.

“All right, first of all, lay off the eggnog,” Killian said, taking the glass out of David’s hand. “Second of all, a practical gift is fine if it’s something she really needs. It shows you’ve been paying attention to what she says. As far as romantic goes, it doesn’t have to be something that costs anything. Write her a letter expressing the way you feel about her.”

“She has been complaining about the toaster burning her toast lately,” David said.

“There you are, then! Problem solved.”

David clapped Killian on the back. “Thanks, _mate_. I owe you one.”

“No problem.” He pointed over to the mess on the kitchen counter. “Just hand me that rum and don’t make me drink any more of that abominable eggnog, and you can consider your debt repaid.”


	4. Slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Smutty CS having a quickie with her parents either ‘downstairs’ or in the general vicinity.
> 
> MY NOTES: Trying to get back into the swing of writing, so voila: 3500 words of mostly porn. It’s the post-4x02 canon divergent smut I’ve always wanted to write. I fiddled a little with canon to get Henry and Elsa out of the loft. Rated E.

Emma stirred into wakefulness and cracked an eye open. The heavy weight of several blankets pressed down on her, but she still felt a bone-deep chill that all the heat and blankets and cuddling from Killian hadn’t been able to touch.

“What’s this?” she heard Killian ask, and she turned her head and focused on him. He was frowning with confusion at a pile of clothes that Mary Margaret was holding out to him.

“Pajamas,” Mary Margaret said like it was perfectly self-explanatory that Emma’s mother would be handing him clothes to sleep in. When he continued to look confused, she huffed. “I’d rather there be someone to keep a close eye on Emma tonight, and I assume you wouldn’t be opposed? You can sleep in Henry’s bed.”

“Where is Henry going to sleep?” Emma asked, her voice coming out in a croak. “He can’t go to Regina’s -- she won’t let anyone in the house right now, not even Henry.”

“Actually, he finally was able to speak to her on the phone a few minutes ago, and she wants him to stay over tonight. David’s taken him over there now, and then he’s going to get Elsa a room to rent at Granny’s.”

Emma struggled to sit up, one of the quilts falling to the floor. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” A lot of decisions seem to have been made while she was sleeping, and she was a little annoyed by it. Killian rushed over, prepared to bundle her up again, but she waved him away.

“I’m sure Elsa will be perfectly comfortable at--”

“Not Elsa,” Emma said, interrupting her mother. “Henry. Are we sure Regina’s not evil? Is it safe to leave him alone with her?” She stood up, doing her best to ignore the swimmy feeling in her head. Pins and needles tingled in her feet, and she stamped them on the floor, trying to bring feeling back into them. 

“He misses her, and I think having him there will be good for her,” her mother said. “Now, would you like me to draw you a hot bath? I think the hot water heater’s been on long enough now.”

Emma glanced at Killian, still standing there uncomfortably with his bundle of borrowed pajamas. A bath sounded nice but it would also take longer, and she suddenly felt impatient to get to bed. “I’ll just take a shower,” she said.

A few minutes later she was standing under the shower spray, the temperature up as hot as she could stand it. The pins and needles in her feet had turned into agonizing stabbing shards, but at least feeling was finally coming back to them, and there didn’t seem to be any lasting damage. As ways to almost die went, Emma had mixed feelings about freezing to death. It probably wasn’t the most painful way to go, but it had certainly been unpleasant.

Emma thought about Killian up in her bedroom, changing his clothes, and a shiver ran down her spine. She wondered if he was thinking about her down here, naked in the shower. A sudden image struck her of Killian standing under the water with her, pressed against her back. She would turn in his arms, lean in and collect droplets of water off of his neck with her tongue. She’d be able to feel his arousal, hot and hard and trapped between their bodies, and it would be so easy to reach down and...

Shaking off the fantasy, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Emma shut off the water and reached for her towel, reminding herself that her parents were home, and the landing where her bed sat was directly over theirs. Getting herself worked up with sexy daydreams was futile.

Once her pajamas were on (including a pair of thick wool socks), Emma ventured out of the bathroom. The downstairs was dark and quiet, the curtain drawn over the area where her parent’s bed and Neal’s crib was; they seemed to have turned in for the night. Carefully tip-toeing up the stairs, Emma spotted Killian sitting on the small cot in the corner of the room, David’s pajamas hanging on his narrower shoulders. The sight of him in sleepwear of any kind, much less plaid pajamas, was startling. Emma supposed if she’d thought of it at all, she assumed he probably slept naked. 

Blinking away that mental image, she noticed that he’d removed his hook, but still wore the leather brace under the borrowed pajamas. She worried that he couldn’t be terribly comfortable like that, but didn’t want to overstep by suggesting he take it off. Would he take an offer like that as it was intended, as a genuine desire to put him at ease, or would it be pressuring him to expose something to her that he wasn’t ready for? The words damned up in her throat.

“Feeling warmer?” Killian asked, setting aside the small framed photo of Emma and Henry that he’d been examining.

Emma looked down at his bare feet. They were long and narrow, and his toes were hairy just like the rest of him. Something about it made her smile.

“Yeah, much warmer.” She climbed under the covers. Someone had put a few extra blankets on her bed, but the sheets were chilled against her body, and she shivered. Taking a deep breath, she beckoned to him. “You don’t have to sleep over there,” she said. “You can join me.”

Killian arched an eyebrow. “That would be scandalous, Swan.”

“You’re supposed to be keeping me warm, right? Hard to do from over there,” she said with a challenging smirk of her own. 

Unfolding himself from the cot, Killian was over at her bed in a couple of long strides, and she held up a corner of the blankets for him as he climbed in next to her. “What will your royal parents say?” he whispered as she turned off the bedside lamp and they arranged themselves. The bed was by no means large, and there was a bit of awkward fumbling as they tried to figure out the appropriate amount of touching for two people who were clearly more than friends, but who’d yet to go farther than heated kisses. 

“They’re asleep,” she said. “Also, I’m an adult.” Killian carefully put his arm over her waist, his hand slipping briefly across bare skin where her pajama top rode up before seeking and finding a safer spot over her shirt.

Emma snuggled down in his embrace, tucking her head under his chin, and the tip of her nose brushed against chest hair at his neckline. She could smell his warm, male scent, and a spark of desire trickled down her spine. She brought her hand to his chest, settling it over where his heart was beating. 

“Mmm, you feel quite warm to me already, love,” he murmured.

“Oh, I guess I don’t need you, then,” she said, smiling when he pulled her closer. She could tell he had angled his hips back a bit, just enough to provide a respectable distance between their lower halves. The gentlemanliness of it made her all the more tempted to bring out the pirate’s less gentlemanly side.

“I hope you’ll allow me to continue to hold you, even if my presence isn’t strictly necessary to keep you warm.”

“I suppose I’ll allow it,” Emma whispered, angling her head and letting her lips brush against his neck. She felt him shiver at the contact. Giving in to temptation, Emma let her tongue dart out of her mouth to flick against his throat before kissing him again more firmly. She dragged her lips against his stubble, grinning at the low moan she could feel under her mouth. Killian’s hand clenched at her back.

“Emma,” he said, both a plea and a warning. 

“Sorry, I’ll stop.”

His hand left her lower back, and then she felt him press under her chin and tilt her head up so that he could look at her. “Understand me, I don’t want you to stop. I’ll never want you to stop. But we should maintain some decorum with your parents just downstairs.”

“Yeah, we definitely should,” she said, but her traitorous hand moved around over his back and lower, to trail over the curve of his ass. Killian’s eyes fell closed, his long lashes casting shadows from the streetlight coming through her window. “For one thing,” she continued, squeezing the firm muscle of his backside with her fingers, “the springs of this bed are pretty noisy.”

Killian pressed his hips forward, the loose pajamas he was wearing doing nothing to hide his erection, and her own hips flexed toward him unconsciously. It only took another fraction of a movement to bring her mouth to his.

The desperation of the kiss, the way he greedily sucked on her tongue, reminded her of their first kiss in Neverland -- how after that first frozen second, when he didn’t seem to quite believe she was actually kissing him, he had dived into it headfirst, his mouth hot and wet and slippery against hers. But now they weren’t in a dangerous jungle, taking a moment for themselves away from the desperate search her son. They weren’t stealing a moment on Granny’s terrace while everyone they knew was gathered inside. They weren’t pausing in the forest after the latest crisis for a brief brush of lips. This was all quiet darkness and soft sheets and warmth, and they had hours to take advantage if they wanted to. 

When he finally broke the kiss it wasn’t to go far, his breath panting into her mouth, forehead pressed against hers as if he needed the contact to remain tethered to the world.

“Killian,” she whispered, not to follow it up with anything. Just to have his name on her lips. 

“You need to sleep, love.” But the way his hand found that gap of skin at her waist again, stroking her with his thumb, she didn’t get the sense that he wanted to let her sleep.

Emma lifted her leg and settled it on Killian’s hip, pressing their bodies even closer together. She knew she was being reckless, that this was a man she had a chance to have something real with, and that she probably shouldn’t rush into things with him. That she should be responsible. But she’d almost died tonight and he was here in her bed, and she didn’t want to do the responsible thing. She wanted to chase the feelings Killian was bringing out in her to their inevitable conclusion.

With a softly broken groan, he let his weight settle over her, his straining erection pressing hard between her legs. More deep kisses followed, his mouth trailing wetly down from her mouth to her chin to her neck. Emma continued to grip his ass, encouraging him to thrust against her with every movement of her hand.

Killian loomed over her, the fringe of hair over his forehead capturing the light from the window and taking on an almost blue tinge, it looked so black. 

“I want you so much,” he said simply, his lips reddened from her kisses. 

“Me too.” He thrust forward again at her admission, catching the gasp from her lips with his own.

Without allowing herself to think too much about it, Emma reached down for the waistband of her pajamas, and Killian rolled off of her, giving her the space to shimmy them off of her legs. Kicking the bundle of pajamas and underwear and socks down to the foot of the bed, she rolled so they were face-to-face once again. Killian looked dumbfounded, and he tentatively settled his hand on her bare hip. His fingers twitched like he couldn’t decide where to touch her first.

Emma lifted her leg and again settled her knee on his hip, and unmistakable invitation to touch her where she was now open and, she had to admit, desperate to feel his fingers on her wet flesh. And god, she was wet. 

They kissed languidly as Killian gradually brought his hand around to cup the bare curve of her ass, his fingers just barely grazing the crease, his movements slow, slow, slow and so effectively driving her insane with desire. When the tips of his fingers finally brushed very gently against her folds, Emma choked back a moan and bit his lower lip.

“Shhhhh,” Killian said, continuing to carefully explore her, the pads of his fingers running up and down the cleft of her opening. He hadn’t even so much as grazed her clit yet, and she already felt like she was halfway to coming. “Can you be quiet, love?”

Emma nodded.

“You’re softer than silk,” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “Gods, Emma, I…” 

Working her hand clumsily between their bodies, Emma stroked the outline of his cock through his pajamas, the harsh breathing in her ear telling her that he liked what she was doing. She felt two of Killian’s fingers slip inside her, and she rolled her hips, seeking more of that delicious feeling. His cock felt so hard and big under her palm, and she just wanted that, how full she would feel. The slick pull and push of it.

“It would be beyond bad form if I spend myself in your father’s trousers,” Killian said, leaving off touching her to press his hand against hers to stop her stroking. 

“Take them off then,” she countered.

He raised an eyebrow, somehow looking both cocky and unsure simultaneously. “Are you certain?”

The warmth and softness of the moment made her feel like she was in an intimate little bubble with him, that she could say anything, could do anything she wanted. And in that moment she felt so ready for him, ready to feel the width of his hips between her thighs, ready for that deep down pleasure that in her experience could only come from one thing.

Nodding, she kissed him quickly. “I won’t get pregnant, I have a birth control… thing,” she said, wondering what he’d learned about contraception in this realm. “And I want this.”

She felt his hand tighten on hers where it still pressed her palm against his cock. “You said the bed was noisy.”

Emma shrugged. “We’ll… move slow.”

Killian leaned over her and raised her pajama top, his lips closing around one of her nipples. Emma arched her back and gasped as he sucked sharply, finally releasing her and moving to do the same to the other breast, before meeting her gaze and smiling hazily. “I think I might be dreaming, but please don’t awaken me, love.” 

She found herself smiling back at him as she helped him ease the borrowed pajamas over his hips. “Okay.”

Pushing him back onto his side once they were both bare from the waist down, Emma hooked her knee back over his hip, rubbing herself shamelessly against him. 

“You want it like this?” he whispered, moving his pelvis in a rhythm with hers. 

“I thought it might be quieter?” she answered, feeling the tip of his cock pressing against her opening and doing her best to angle her hips to take him inside. They rocked together, and with each tight thrust he sank into her another inch, but then the bed started to squeak and Emma froze.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, clinging to him. His cock was buried part way in, and she felt a burn at the stretch of him. It had been a while since she’d had sex with anyone, and Killian was larger than most. Bringing her knee up as high as she could and swiveling her hips carefully, Emma took him deeper. 

“Slow,” Killian said, and he grasped her hip to stop her. Emma blinked her eyes open. They both stared at each other, chests heaving. Clenching her inner muscles, Emma watched him react, his jaw twitching as he worked to rein himself in. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, his fingers pressing hard into her skin.

She swiveled her hips again, getting him as deep as she could in this position. “Fuck me, Killian.”

“We need to go slow,” he groaned.

“Slow,” she agreed, nodding. She didn’t really want slow. She wanted him to fuck her hard and fast, pounding her down into the mattress, but that would almost certainly be audible downstairs.

With a deep breath, Killian pulled out very gradually, inch by torturous inch, before pressing back in just as slowly. It seemed to light up every nerve between her legs, and Emma gasped at the way the sensations were dragged out by the glacial pace.

The position on their sides kept him from burying himself to the hilt, and Emma wondered if she should offer to turn over, let him take her from behind. But the way he was looking at her -- she couldn’t look away from the awestruck look on his face as she slowly lost her mind from this achingly slow fuck.

Killian’s eyes flicked down to where they were joined. “Touch yourself.”

She knew it was probably just that he didn’t want to lose the leverage he had, clutching her hip, but maybe it was also that they’d never done this before and he wanted to see how she liked it. Sliding her hand down between them, Emma pressed against her clit, rubbing her flesh against her pubic bone. She gasped, the sensation of her fingers combining with the slow drag of his cock to pitch her close to the edge.

“Can you come?” he asked, his teeth clenched, and she wondered how close he was to coming himself.

Emma nodded, her fingers moving faster. 

“Do you like the way it feels?” he asked.

“Yes, god, you’re so... “ She almost sobbed with the way the pleasure was lighting her up from the inside, it was so good, it was almost everything, she just needed a little more, just a little more, a little deeper…

With one swift motion, Killian rolled them, pressing down and deep and he slid in that last inch, deep and perfect and one more thrust, and another, and another, and she was gone. They both were. Emma sank her teeth into his shoulder and rode it out, holding him as he shuddered in her arms.

“Sorry,” Killian said as he lifted himself away. Mentally rewinding, Emma realized the bed springs had groaned audibly as they’d changed position, as he fucked her hard down into the mattress for those last few strokes.

She tried to worry about it, and couldn’t be bothered. She felt too good.

“If they heard us, I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” she sighed, curling up against Killian’s chest. She unbuttoned a couple of buttons over his chest, exposing more of his chest hair to her fingers. 

“Warm enough?” he asked.

“Mmm hmm. Very warm.” Even her feet were warm, she thought as she brushed her toes against his leg. She was floating, warm and satisfied, and sleep pulled her under in a matter of minutes. The last thing she was conscious of was the brush of a kiss against the top of her head.

~*~

She was sweltering.

“Emma? Hook? Do you want some breakfast?”

Emma jerked upright, confused about where she was. Looking around, she took in Killian lying beside her in bed and then swung around to her mother, who was standing on the top step. If she was surprised that Killian hadn’t spent the night in Henry’s bed, she showed no sign of it.

“Yeah, breakfast. Yeah. Give us a few minutes.” Emma was intensely aware of the fact that under all of the blankets, she and Killian were still completely naked from the waist down. 

Her mother disappeared, and Emma turned and met Killian’s eyes. He smirked and got up out of bed, stretching, giving her an eyeful of his bare ass.

“Put your pants on,” Emma hissed. “What if she comes up here again?”

He reached for the neat pile of folded clothes he’d left on her dresser the night before, and shook out his leather pants. “As you command, princess.”

His bravado was just that, and she could see through it as easily as tissue paper. He was nervous, just as she was, and was hiding it under smirks and swagger. With a huff, Emma fished her crumpled pajama pants out from under the bedding and pulled them on. Standing up, she walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. 

“Last night was nice. I don’t regret it.”

His swagger melted away in an instant, leaving a softer, open expression on his face. “I’m very glad of that, love.”

“Okay, good.”

He pulled David’s pajama shirt off and pulled his own shirt back on over his head. “ _Nice?_ ”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe better than nice.”

He leaned over and kissed her softly. “Much better than nice.”


End file.
